


In the Absence of Friendship

by articas_ursula



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, Chudley Cannons, Friendship, Gen, Healer Harry Potter, M/M, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Quidditch Player Ron Weasley, Ride or Die Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/articas_ursula/pseuds/articas_ursula
Summary: No Voldemort AU: Five years after their falling-out, Harry runs into Ron at a pub. The most promising healer of a generation and the Chudley Cannons’ only decent player, their friendship picks up where it left off. The unsuspecting Cannons gain an unlikely seeker, and a lonely Harry regains his best friend. Background Harry/Cedric.





	In the Absence of Friendship

**In the Absence of Friendship**

_artica's-ursula (FFN)_

_articas_ursula (AO3)_

_Written for FFN Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) forum_

_Voodoo Magic: The Loa.Task #8: Write about two people coming together._

* * *

 “Oh shit, sorry mate!”

Harry sighed in frustration, jumping up from his bar stool with beer dripping down his robes and white button-up shirt. Immediately, two drunken hags knocked into him on their way towards the exit.

Saturday nights in Diagon Alley were ridiculous.

“Hey! Can I vanish that for you--?”

“It’s fine!” Harry shouted over the din, flicking his wand once to vanish the alcohol soaking into his skin. A sour-looking witch glared at him as he accidentally elbowed her while stashing his wand once more.

“...Potter?”

He blinked, turning towards the unexpected sound of his name. Well, what were the odds of that? Ron Weasley, tall and red-haired as ever, loomed over the sea of people around them. In one hand he loosely grasped the handle of a tattered briefcase that had seen better days and in the other, the rest of the beer he’d spilled over Harry.

_Ron_. “Weasley,” he answered slowly, hesitantly.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you much!” Ron gestured to the chaos around them. Three pleasantly plump witches had taken residence on the tiny stage next to the fireplace and were belting out the words to Do The Hippogriff in an exuberant manner that didn’t quite qualify as singing. Despite their racket, the crowd desperately egged them on.

“Grab your drink and come over here--let’s have a catch up, eh?”

Some of Harry’s hesitation must have spilled over into his expression because Ron just grinned wryly and added: “I’m not angry anymore, you know.”

Harry stared at him, more hesitant still, but followed along when Ron turned and retreated towards the spiral staircase that led up to the five rickety balcony-like levels that allowed one to preside over the merriment occurring below while still being afforded a bit of privacy. It reminded him of The Burrow, the last time he’d been welcome there.

“I didn’t think this was your sort of establishment anymore--no offense intended,” Ron added quickly, though of course there was some offense intended. Harry didn’t blame him. Their last parting five years ago had been uncivil at best and he thought of it often.

“I was much happier when I was younger. I had hoped to feel that way again if I came back here… but it doesn’t seem so easy now.”

There was a long silence  during which Ron looked quite taken aback by the depressingly honest comment and Harry’s face slowly turned hot.

“I… Sorry, that was awkward. I know we’re not friends anymore and that--” Abruptly, Harry got to his feet, his chair scraping loudly before topping backward. People glanced over at them curiously and Harry’s cheeks turned redder still. “Sorry,” he repeated, busying himself with righting the chair.

“Harry.”

Startled, Harry looked up and it was like being five years in the past when Ron made that same worried face as he watched his best friend choking back tears before the next words out of Harry’s mouth destroyed everything.

[

_“I can’t be your friend anymore. I’m sorry.”_

]

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t have the right to complain to you. Definitely not about this.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Ron suggested.

“Why do you even care? You should be telling me to bugger off!”

“Do you want to bugger off?”

“...No.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong.”

Frustrated, Harry scowled at him. “What aren’t you pissed at me? _I’m_ pissed at me.”

“You did the best you could.”

“That isn’t my best!”

“For a kid it was,” Ron pointed out. “We were both kids. Believe me, I hated your guts for awhile, but then I realized I didn’t _hate_ you. We were like brothers. Of course I didn’t hate you.”

That really just made Harry feel worse.

It seemed that Ron wouldn’t pry further than that, though. They say in companionable silence for a few minutes, the raucous noise washing over them from below.

Years ago, they had haunted this bar like ghouls every Saturday night. The had toasted to everything they could think of.

[

_“To passing Potions!”_

_“To not passing Divination!”_

_“To the Chudley Cannons!”_

_“I refuse to toast a substandard Quidditch team,” Harry replied, withdrawing his goblet from meeting Ron’s across the table. “You try to toast them every time. When are you giving up that nifflershit team?”_

_“What do you know about nifflershit teams?” Ron insisted, taking a sip of beer before putting it down to instead shuffle the exploding snap card deck in front of him. “I’m going to be their keeper one day.”_

_“Mate, if you become keeper of that awful team, I’ll be its damn seeker!”_

_]_

“Cedric proposed,” Harry announced suddenly. It was the first bit of happiness he’d expressed since they’d made eye contact downstairs. “Last week.”

Ron thumped the table enthusiastically. “Bloody hell, that’s great!” He paused, reading Harry’s expression. “It _is_ great, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Harry agreed quickly. He fiddled with a drop of condensation on the side of his beer mug. “It’s just… when Cedric’s friends came to fetch him a few hours ago to celebrate… they were all so happy. And when they left together, I was standing in an empty hallways and realized I had no friends left. In school my parents kept telling me the people I liked weren’t good enough, my grades weren’t good enough. So I tried changing those things. The sacrifices had seemed worthwhile because my parents said they were, but really? They were all as worthless as the last. I was an idiot all along.”

Ron became quiet, staring into the frosty glass of his beer mug. Harry knew he shouldn’t have said anything. It was ridiculous to complain about having no friends to the man whose thirteen years of friendship he’d rejected just because his parents had told him to. Just as Harry was getting ready to apologize once more, Ron looked up from his glass, determinedly raising it.

“Well, we ought to toast to celebrate.”

“You don’t have to do that out of pity,” Harry muttered. “I know I did this to myself.”

Ron ignored him. “Let’s toast to the future. And good health.”

“...And the Chudley Cannons,” Harry added quietly.

Ron grinned. “Them too.”

An hour later, they were drunk. Not just any kind of drunk. “Gryffindor common room after destroying Slytherin in Quidditch”-drunk.

“I always knew Parkinson was a little sneak,” Ron announced, bashing his glass with unnecessary force to toast Harry’s. A health amount of drink sloshed out of the tankard. “But never thought she was smart enough to be a lawyer. She was always trying to be the future Lady Malfoy in school.”

Harry made a face after sipping his beer. “You got that swill in my drink!”

“This is good beer,” Ron insisted, taking a hardy swing to prove his point.

“It’s nifflershit.”

“It’s German!”

“It’s nifflershit!”

Ron looked outraged. “Bloody hell! You never were any good at recognizing good alcohol. What are you going to serve at your wedding reception then? _Light ale_?”

Instead of continuing the banter, Harry became serious. He stared at Ron with an unnervingly solemn expression.

Ron rolled his eyes, obviously interpreting this as offense. “You never frowned this much at Hogwarts. Lighten up over there, Potter!”

“Will you come to my wedding?”

Ron paused. He seemed to realize the stress even posing this question produced, because he answered casually: “Fuck that. I’m going to be the best man.”

Harry nodded slowly, the swiftly, then grinningly. “Right then!”

“Your parents aren’t going to go for that though,” Ron pointed out. “They think my family is poor trash.”

Unable to deny it, Harry scowled furiously. “I can do better than I did when I was a kid. I don’t rely on them now like I had to back then. I have a job. And a flat.” Attempting to offset the tension, he added: “Besides, you’re a famous Quidditch player now. You know how they like people of status.”

“I wouldn’t say _famous,_ ” Ron admitted sheepishly. “Being keeper for the Cannons isn’t exactly glamorous. Our seeker walked out on us two weeks ago and no one decent wants to replace him. We haven’t won a game in years, so that’s probably why.”

“Not for lack of skill on your part,” Harry said earnestly. “You average as one of the best keepers in the league. You didn’t let a single goal through in your match against the Harpies last week.”

Ron raised a brow. “How did you know that? I thought you didn’t follow ‘substandard Quidditch teams.’”

“Yeah, but I always cheered for yours.”

Laughing, Ron took another swing of beer. “Bloody hell. Five years later, you’re still the same guy.”

“I know you were offered contracts with other teams. Teams that have much better players. Oliver wants you to be his reserve keeper for Puddlemere United so badly, he’d do just about anything. Why didn’t you ever go with one of them?”

“Stubborn, I guess.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Seriously.”

“Seriously? I guess I don’t like giving up. Even if I have to work part-time at the Ministry to pay the bills.” He gestured vaguely at the briefcase he’d discarded under their table. “Sponsors aren’t exactly lining up to be associated with the Cannons.”

“You’re right. You really are bloody stubborn.”

They drank to that.

“Recruiters were begging you to go pro after Hogwarts. But Healer Potter, huh? How’d that happen?”

Exhaling loudly, Harry shook his head. “Who knows? I’ve been working towards it for so long that I’m not sure what to do now that I have it.”

“You relax,” Ron told him. “You used to be good at that.”

“When are seeker tryouts?”

Ron blinked at the change of subject. “Sorry?”

Harry shrugged, feeling reckless. “I said I’d be their seeker if you were the keeper. When are the Chudley Cannons’ tryouts?”

Ron hit the back of his chair with a _thud_ . “Oh come on, mate. You’re not serious. You’re a _healer_.”

“And you’re,“ Harry paused, “whatever you do at the Ministry.”

“Yeah, because I have to—not because I like it! I’m not interested in your pity!”

“I’m trying out for your fuck-awful, nifflershit team and that’s that!”

They stared at each other.

Ron had always been prideful and it didn’t surprise Harry that he was still that way. It was the reason Harry had been so sure he would never be forgiven for his insult against his best friend when he’d told him that his parents didn’t want him hanging out with a Weasley anymore. Still, Ron had clearly grown from that. It made Harry want to grow too. Harry’s parents had been horrified when he’d considered professional Quidditch after Hogwarts. It was a little late, rebelling against them now, but Harry felt brave enough to do it if his best friend was doing it too.

“...Thursday.”

“I’ll clear my schedule,” Harry smirked.

Harry was pretty sure Ron didn’t believe him even as they gathered their things to depart. The sun had long-since crested and the crowd below had largely fled like roaches in the light. Nevertheless, they parted amicably--Ron to sleep the night’s festivities off in his flat a few minutes’ walk into Muggle London and Harry to floo directly to Potter Manor in the prestigious non-Muggle province of Ashcroft Hill for Sunday tea.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ron reminded him, embracing Harry with a clap on the back. “It was great seeing you again. Really.”

Harry nodded firmly, speaking seriously at they faced each other once more. “I’ll do better this time, mate. I promise.”

“Good,” Ron said easily, waving as he moved towards the exit. The two bartenders were organizing the room with their wands, unfazed at the variety of patrons slowly pulling themselves together to brave daylight.

Not relishing the thought of floo travel with a hangover, Harry grimaced, cast a quick freshening spell over his robes and hoped for the best as he dipped his hand into the giant clay vase stuck with a permanent sticking charm to the floor in front of the hearth.

“Potter Manor--Ashcroft Hill,” he enunciated clearly before reluctantly stepping into the flickering green flames.

The journey was just as bad as he’d anticipated, and then some. The headache that had slowly been creeping up on him was now murderous as he slowed in the floo network. His gate was coming up, and the charms defending the entrance against unauthorized visitors were assessing him.

Harry could only groan as he was spat out onto the thick scarlet rug in the reception room of his parents’ home. The argument for simply passing out in that position was strong, but Lily Potter was not one to tolerate lateness. He dragged himself upright with great effort, trying to avoid vomiting as he did so.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Yeah, fantastic,” Harry muttered to the house elf, Fairly, who had come to greet him. “Sorry--Fairly, could you grab me a--”

A bottle of hangover draft was presented to him without comment.

“...Right. Thanks.” Throwing it back, Harry shook his head roughly in revulsion. Vanishing the bottle, he slowly began to walk. “ _Ugh_ , I hate that stuff.”

“Sir, my Lord and Lady await you in the tea gardens. Breakfast this morning is poached egg served over freshly toasted sourdough bread with sliced heirloom tomatoes, drizzled in herb-buttered olive oil. The tea is white cloud.”

“Can I have coffee instead?” Harry whispered urgently as they approached the glass-encased veranda where the outline of his parents was visible.

“Apologies, sir, but Lady Potter asks that this breakfast be served with the tea she is currently growing here on property.”

“Harry! There you are!”

Lord James Potter smiled briefly over the top of the Daily Prophet. Lady Lily Potter had been flicking through _Potions Today_ , but put it aside as she spotted her son.

They were good parents, Harry knew as he sat down next to his mother and she began fussing over him. Only since yesterday did he realize they just weren’t always good people.

“Wherever is Cedric?”

“With his friends,” Harry answered distractedly, fiddling with his engagement ring. It was an heirloom of the Diggory family with their house crest stamped deeply into the platinum band.

“How is work going?” Lily asked while serving him the tea she’d selected. “Try this, my love. I’m growing it myself.”

“I’m trying out for the Chudley Cannons.”

It was best to be direct with these people.

“That bad, huh?” James asked, turning the page. “What happened?”

It took a second for Harry to realize how his statement had been taken and paused awkwardly to contemplate how to correct it.

“Severus told me there’s been an incredible resurgence of Dragon Pox cases lately. Parents just refusing to vaccinate! It’s barbaric.”

“That’s true—mum, I’m trying out to be the seeker of the Chudley Cannons on Thursday.”

That time, it stuck.

James lowered his paper.

The smile slowly faded from Lily’s face. “...Pardon?”

“I’m still going to keep my position with Saint Mungo’s in the Unforgivables Unit, but maybe I’ll take some time off every now and—“

“Where the hell is this coming from?” James interjected incredulously, dropping his newspaper to the floor. “Are you stressed out? Is it the wedding?”

“It’s the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Nerves are normal. Unless you don’t want to marry Diggory—that’s okay too.”

“Dad!” Harry snapped. “I want to marry Cedric. I want to be a healer. I also want to play Quidditch.”

Lily was no longer taking in what he was saying, instead clasping her hands together under her chin and shaking her head slowly.

“No,” James decided with finality. “No. Quidditch is dangerous and you have a career to think about. You can’t afford a serious injury. I played it just the same as you in school. It’s fine with your friends—“

“I don’t have any friends!”

That prompted another, even more startled pause.

“That’s not true,” James said slowly.

“Yeah? Name one.”

“Healer Silver.”

“That’s my _boss_.”

“Goldstein.”

“That’s the coworker I hate.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it?” James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his spectacles.

“You used to have so many friends at school,” Lily finally spoke up. She looked sincerely distressed. “Whatever happened to them?”

There was a cold, breathless second that Harry felt the sudden impulse to scream at her. She had told him his friends weren’t good enough and then just… _forgot about it!?_

James seemed to infer the unadulterated rage brewing in his son’s face, because he hastily stood. “Alright, alright, I’m sure there a good pickup league here in Ashcroft—“

“I’m joining the Chudley Cannons. Ron Weasley is on the team.”

“That boy _again_?” James demanded. Lily’s lips pursed in a tight frown. “I thought you weren’t friends with him anymore! How long has this been going on?”

In contrast to his parents’ darkening moods, Harry found himself smiling. “Since last night. I ran into him at Hearthfire—“

“ _That_ place, on top of everything!”

“—and he agreed to be my friend again.”

“We never said he wasn’t a nice boy,” said Lily firmly.

“Just not a good enough one?”

They all stared at each other.

“Right,” Harry nodded to himself, standing slowly. “I think… I think I’m going to go.”

“You haven’t eaten!” Lily stood too, wringing her hands. “Harry—“

“You’re not giving us much time to digest this!”

“I’ll see you later.”

* * *

 “And then I ran.”

Cedric made a sympathetic noise, combing his fingers through his fiancé’s hair on the couch of their flat.

Harry had been surprised by Cedric’s relieved reception, having forgotten that he’d told the blond he was going to sleep early. Poor Cedric had apparently arrived home at four in the morning, only to find the flat empty. He’d anxiously stayed awake, waiting five hours for Harry to return despite his exhaustion.

[

“ _Thank Merlin you’re alright!” Cedric half-snapped, rising from his chair to meet Harry halfway across their living room. Cedric embraced him fiercely. “Where in Merlin’s name were you? No note or anything! You scared the hell out of me!” He paused, surveying his fiancé more closely at arm’s length. His tone shifted. “Uh-oh. What did your parents do now?”_

_Harry opened his mouth._

_And started crying._

_]_

“They’ll come around,” Cedric said encouragingly.

“Do you think it’s stupid?”

“It’s a little out of the blue,” Cedric admitted, “and not the best of teams perhaps, but I don’t think anything you do is stupid.”

“Do you remember Ron?”

Cedric laughed. “Of course! He threatened to sneak into the Hufflepuff dorms and beat me up if I hurt you. But we were always cool after that. And he never actually did it.”

Harry grimaced. “Sorry. I asked him to be my best man.”

“Good.” Cedric kissed his fringe. “Now—where’s your firebolt gotten to, do you know?”

Harry smiled. “You’re the best.”

“True.”

* * *

 It turned out, Ron really had thought he was nifflershitting about trying out. When Harry showed up with Cedric in tow, the redhead blinked stupidly at him from behind a folding card table stacked with papers.

“I thought you were kidding!”

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry ignored him. “I had a procedure run long. Where is everyone?” he added, looking around at the nearly-empty Quidditch pitch. A handful of fans were orbiting around three tall players who seemed to be signing autographs and not paying much attention to the goings-on around them.

“What part of ‘this team is bad’ aren’t you getting?” Ron responded. He seemed to be coming around to the idea that Harry was really doing this. He exchanged a brief hug and a thump on the back with Harry, grinning brightly. “So you dragged Cedric along too?”

“I heard the guys trying out for seeker are hot,” Cedric claimed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “So how does this tryout work? I can’t imaging you want me to play against Cedric.”

“Not exactly. Put down your stuff and come over here, yeah?”

Ron began marching across the field with a definite spring in his step as Harry and Cedric followed along behind him. Harry unraveled his dark scarlet scarf and shrugged off his jacket as he went, piling them in Cedric’s dutifully waiting arms.

“Just like being back in Gryffindor, eh?” Ron grinned maniacally when he stopped walking. Harry was reminded horribly of Oliver Wood looming over him at three in the morning in fourth year, cheerfully instructing him to get his Quidditch gear together for a surprise practice session.

It had been hailing outside at the time.

Harry carefully removed his engagement ring, handing it to Cedric for safekeeping. “Don’t lose it. I’m coming back for that.”

“You’d better,” Cedric replied.

“We have a set of brooms that record your movements in the air. It helps quantify the rider’s skill.” As he explained, Ron placed a hand over one of the brooms on the ground. It leapt neatly into his palm. “Usually we’d have the current seeker play against the perspective one, but when Michaelson quit, he refused to come back and help pick his replacement. Instead, we’re going to release three snitches. You’ll be rated on the amount of time it takes you to catch them, the difficulty of the catch, and ability to dodge obstacles trying to prevent you from catching.”

“Obstacles?” Cedric asked flatly.

Ron waved his wand. A wooden chest stamped across the top with _Property of the Chudley Cannons_ slid helpfully across the grass from a few feet away. Throwing the lid open with his foot, Ron unnecessarily indicated the two viciously trembling bludgers attempting to free themselves from their leather straps.

“Well, let’s get to it,” Harry said bracingly. He kissed his fiancé quickly, grinned at Ron, and retrieved a broom from the grass with a wave of his hand. It jumped immediately to waist-level.

Ron waved his wand at the trunk again. Three tiny balls the size of walnuts shot away in three different directions on silvery wings. They vanished into the afternoon sunlight instantly. The two bludgers took off next, sounding like hungry gremlins as they shot like cannonballs into the air.

“Good luck,” Ron nodded.

Harry mounted the broom and kicked off with zeal.

* * *

One snitch in, Ron could practically _feel_ Cedric having a heart attack next to him. They were a tier or two up in the stands now, leaning against the rail while squinting up against the sun.

“Relax, Cedric. You played against him in Hogwarts and never worried then. He’s a devil on a broom; you know that.”

“In Hogwarts, I was a stupid kid playing against another stupid kid.” Cedric gripped the railing tightly. “And now that’s my whole life up there.”

Harry took a sudden sharp downturn, throwing his weight flat against his broom to increase the already white-knuckle speed before pulling up, traveling horizontally, and straightening out again after a full three hundred sixty degree turn. All at breakneck pace.

Beside Ron, Cedric choked. “I don’t remember it being quite this bad.”

“Oh, it always was. The man is mental.”

“Whoa, he’s good.”

Ron glanced over, but Cedric didn’t dare tear his eyes away from his fiancé’s reckless maneuvers three hundred feet in the air. Anderson, MacBard, and Clarke had finally wandered back over from entertaining their few fans, noticing at last that true talent had entered the skies.

“Better than Michaelson,” someone put in. Probably MacBard.

“Yeah, that’s not saying much.”

In the distance, Harry leveled out his dive abruptly. He paused to raise his hand in Ron’s direction. A glint of gold showed he’d caught the second snitch.

“Look at that!”

Without loosing another moment, Harry made yet another vertical movement, only this time, he didn’t stop.

“Oh no,” Cedric groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“ _Yes_!” Ron hooted, leaning over the rail in excitement. “Yes! Go on, Harry!”

The five of them watch with varying levels of horror and amazement as Harry rapidly approached the ground with no signs of slowing. Close and closer--Harry was refusing to pull away. The snitch he was chasing was the most difficult of the three and wouldn’t hesitate to bring its seeker to the brink of death. It darted side to side, but always maintaining its trajectory towards the ground.

“Shit, he’s a nut!”

“He’s a genius!”

“ _Merlin_!”

Just two feet from the ground, Harry pulled up. The broom visibly stuttered once at the abrupt change in direction, but carried him through as he reached into the air and plucked the third snitch from it.

As one, Ron and his teammates exploded in raucous cheers, clapping, shouting, and swearing as Harry slowed his speed to stop neatly in front of them. The three chasers moved to greet him, but Ron would not be outdone.

“You’re mental!” the redhead roared, tackling his best friend in exhilaration. Harry barely maintained his balance as Ron continued to rant at him. “Absolute madman!”

“Thanks!” Harry grinned.

Shoving Ron aside, Cedric seized him next, holding on like he never meant to let go. “That was incredible. Terrifying, but incredible.”

“You play on one of the amiture leagues?” Clarke asked.

“No.”

“Pickup league?”

Harry shook his head.

“He played seeker for Gryffindor in our day,” Ron boasted.

Clarke stared. “Never Harry Potter! I heard they wanted to take you on for Puddlemere United!”

“Oliver wanted Ron to be his reserve keeper for United,” Harry commented.

“What are you doing trying to get on this fuck-awful team?” Anderson asked wryly.

Harry shrugged. “Revenge against my parents? A drunken bet? Either works.”

Ron wasn’t listening, shaking his head wildly. “Don’t you get what this means, Anderson? We have a _chance_ here!” He began to pace. “We’ve got what it takes now. We could _win_ against the Glasgow Giants next month!”

All three chasers looked skeptical.

“They’re number three in the UK.”

“We’re last,” Anderson informed Harry easily.

“I think Weasley’s right,” MacBard spoke up. “We could do it this time. You saw the kind of seeker we’re working with now. Come on, Clarke. We all know you’re trying to jump ship to the Nottingham Nifflers. Give this a go first.”

Harry looked curiously at the chaser in question, who seemed uncomfortable to know his business was in the open. He hesitated, turning the matter over, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, alright. Let’s see what one month gets us.”

“Get ready to suffer, mates.” Ron rubbed his hands together schemingly. Now his likeness to Oliver Wood was uncanny. “I’m drawing up a new training schedule and we’re going to work harder than we’ve ever worked before.”

“Eh? Hensley lets us make our own schedules,” Anderson commented, surprised.

Hensley, Harry knew, was the captain of the Chudley Cannons as well as one of its beaters. He hadn’t seen him or his counterpart, Brightwood, during tryouts at all. If he hadn’t known already, he would have assumed Ron to be captain by the way he conducted his team and himself.

“Do you like where that’s got us?” Ron asked. “To the bottom of the league?”

No one said anything.

“I’ll owl the schedules out tonight,” Ron concluded with determination, nodding. “You guys can go on--that’s it for tryouts.”

The three chasers traded uneasy but not mutinous looks as they parted. Harry thought he heard one say “Hensley’s not going to like this” as they retreated, but Ron didn’t react.

“Uphill battle?” Cedric asked, clearly also hearing the comment by the way his brow furrowed as he looked after the retreating team members.

“It always is.” Ron fished his wand out of his pocket, grinning at Harry despite his words. “I think I can take a bit of pushback from Hensley with a bit of backup. It’s like being back on the Gryffindor team, isn’t it?”

“Depends. If we win against the Giants, is the afterparty going to be as wild as ours were in Hogwarts?”

“Better,” Ron insisted. He was grinning as he stared around at the empty stadium, possibly imagining it filled with cheering fans for the first time. “Things are turning around, mates. Everything’s going to be different now.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. It _would_ be different. This time, he would be a stronger person and a better friend. No matter how hard it was working full time as a healer and training however often as a professional Quidditch player, he would follow his best mate as far as he could go. The game at the end of the month against the Glasgow Giants at least. “Yeah, it will.”


End file.
